Лори Касс - Pouncing On Murder

“Good in that even if it was Seth you saw, he most likely didn’t have anything to do with the car that almost hit Adam. Or anything to do with Henry’s death.”

As my friend pulled in a slow breath, I saw how her cheekbones poked out sharply into her skin. The woman was working too hard, worrying too much, and not taking care of herself.

“But it’s not unheard of,” she said. “For a guy who did tax fraud to branch out. Into worse crimes, I mean.”

I hadn’t pressed the detective for statistics, but I had the feeling that even if there was even the tiniest percentage, she would lie awake tonight, worrying that she’d put her husband in danger by not reporting her maybe-sighting of Seth.

“No,” I said. “I’m sure it’s happened at least once. But maybe it wasn’t Seth that you saw. You said you just caught a glimpse, and you haven’t seen him for years, so maybe it was just someone who looked like him.”

She frowned, thinking it over, but I could tell she wasn’t buying it. “Promise me you won’t worry for, say, seven days,” I said, holding up the requisite number of fingers. “Business days, mind you. Weekends don’t count. I’m bound to find something by then.”

Irene actually smiled. “Thanks, Minnie. Very, very much.”

“She won’t take thanks,” Cade said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Never has, probably never will. It’s a horrible character flaw, you know.” He nodded at Irene. “Just let her go ahead and do whatever it is she wants, and force gifts upon her later. It’ll be easier for both of you.”

I put my chin up. “I can take a thank-you just as well as anyone.”

Barb, who had joined us at the bar, smirked. “Oh, really? Minnie, let me tell you once again how grateful we are that you and Eddie got Mr. McCade here to the hospital so quickly. Without you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Cade nodded solemnly. “And without your assistance with finding an attorney, I might have—”

I put my hands over my ears and fled from the McCades.

But Irene had been laughing, so it wasn’t all bad.

• • •

The next morning. I woke to sunlight streaming in through the white curtains of my bedroom. I twisted my head around to see what I could of the sky and saw nothing but blue, blue, and more blue. A full-out sunny day in April? A giddy first-day-of-summer-vacation kind of feeling filled me with happy expectation.

“And it’s Saturday,” I told Eddie. “What are the odds?”

My cat, who was curled up between my right hip and the wall of the houseboat, didn’t move any muscles except the ones that were beating his heart and helping him breathe.

“Look,” I said, putting my bare hand outside the covers. “It’s not even cold out there. See, no goose pimples.”

Eddie still didn’t care, so I slid out of bed and tiptoed to the shower without any more disturbance of his beauty sleep. But even after I was clean and dry and dressed, Eddie showed no inclination to take part in any morning activities. Since I was a considerate kind of person, I decided that making my own breakfast would be too noisy for him. Clearly it would be best to go out.

Sabrina, the Round Table’s forever waitress, brought me a glass of water and a mug of coffee.

“I don’t get a menu?” I asked.

She snorted. “When was the last time you ordered anything other than sausage links and either cinnamon apple pancakes or cinnamon French toast?”

“I might if I ever get a menu. I don’t even know what else you have.”

Sabrina wrote something on her waitress pad and tucked her pencil into her bun of graying hair. “About what you’d expect. Now, do you want me to turn in your order for sausage and French toast, or do you want to go hungry because you’re trying to make a point?”

I grinned. “Good to see that marriage hasn’t changed you any.”

She put a hand on one of her padded hips. “Did you really think it would?” she asked, and sashayed away.

Smiling, I watched her go, remembering the events of last summer. She and Bill D’Arcy, a restaurant customer and newcomer to Chilson, had gotten engaged after a short romance. They’d married at Thanksgiving and, as far as I knew, were still happily in the honeymoon phase.

Sabrina came back, going from booth to booth with a fresh pot of coffee. When she came near, I pushed my mug to the edge of the table and asked, “How’s your Bill doing these days?”

Her soft smile told me everything I needed to know. “The new treatments are helping him so much that he’s looking to invest in the company. Not that he’ll ever get his old vision back, but they might be able to stop the deterioration.”

Bill, at age fifty-six, had an advanced case of macular degeneration. He made scads of money by doing complicated things with financial markets, and for a while the talk around town had been that Sabrina would quit working at the Round Table. After all, why would anyone keep working if she didn’t need to?

I’d kept my opinion to myself but hadn’t been surprised that, as the months passed, she showed no signs of leaving the diner. No matter how deep and true the love she shared with Bill, there was no way his taciturn self would satisfy her need for human contact.

“That’s great,” I said, thinking about the time Bill crashed his car into the side of a building. “My fingers are crossed for him.” I looked around at the mostly empty restaurant. “Say, do you have a minute?”

She scanned the room. “Got an order coming, but until then, sure. What’s up?”

“Do you remember seeing anyone new in here the last few weeks?” I wouldn’t have bothered asking the question during the summer, but April wasn’t exactly top tourist season. “A guy in his mid-thirties, red hair, with ears that stick way out.” I cupped my hands around my ears and flapped them around.

But Sabrina was shaking her head. “Why, did he skip out on paying library fines?” She grinned. “What is this world coming to?”

“No, he’s . . .” How to explain this one? “He’s someone that a friend of mine knew a long time ago. She thought she might have seen him around, that’s all.”

Sabrina’s face lit up. “A blast from the past? Do I smell the revival of an old flame?”

Not in the least. “If you see anyone like that, will you let me know? It’s important.”

Sabrina winked. “Gotcha. Anything else?”

I stared at my coffee. “Still sad about Henry Gill, I guess. I know he was kind of a pain, but there was something about him I really liked.”

“And what might that be?” she asked, starch in her voice. “That I couldn’t ever bring him a cup of coffee that was good enough, or that no one could ever cook him hash browns as good as the ones his wife made?”

“He liked Eddie,” I said.

“Anyone with a lick of sense likes Eddie.” She rolled her eyes. “And don’t mind me for speaking ill of the dead. Henry was a grumpy old man after his wife died, but he was one of ours. We’re going to start up donations, you know, to fund a scholarship to the high school in his name.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. “That’s great. Let me know when you have it set up.”

“You know,” she said musingly, “he was different when his wife was alive. Back then, the only person who didn’t like him was Davis Thumm. And that was because Henry bought the same color truck he did.” She grinned. “In 1975.”

I blinked. As a motive for murder, surely that was the lamest one ever, but you never knew.

Sabrina put more coffee in my mug. “But Davis moved downstate to be closer to his kids back in the nineties. He died last year, I heard, the old bugger.”

“Did you ever see Henry in here with Adam Deering?” I asked.